


Picture Me Loving You

by DevouredbyFandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, Angry John, Destiel Fluff, M/M, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-23 09:12:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4871266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevouredbyFandoms/pseuds/DevouredbyFandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is headed down a one-way street to disaster.  The family he had escaped from is the only thing he has left now. Will it be enough?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Behind Closed Doors

PICTURE ME LOVING YOU

These good fellows don't belong to me, but I promise when I'm done to pick um up, dust um off and with a kiss on the cheek return them safely home.

You can't run away from trouble. There ain't no place that far. ~Uncle Remus

A/N: This is my first Destiel story. Hope you enjoy it. Let me know your thoughts along the way.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 1  
Behind Closed Doors

Dean Winchester stood in his living room as the hot southern California sun shone in through the large front bay windows. Various boxes were stacked along the walls and only a few pieces of furniture remained at this point. He stood there trying to figure out where it all went to hell and coming up with no answers, as usual. An unpackaged mug stood on the mantle, 'World's Best Lover', it read on the side.

World's best fucker upper, he thought to himself.

When he looked up, she was standing in the doorway watching him. "Feel free to take that with you, I don't want it," she said bitterly.

"Please don't do this," he said, softly.

Her brown eyes blazed at him coldly. "How dare you act like this marriage meant anything to you. You had three years to show me any semblance of love and never did. So don't start acting like you care now."

Red raced to his cheeks as his own green eyes flared. "I always cared about you!"

She couldn't help the tears that formed in her eyes. "But did you ever love me?"

He tried to convey something to her, but the words failed him, just like every other time she had begged him for answers. The problem was he just didn't have any. There were no answers, no solutions and no love left inside of him. 

There was nothing.

She walked over and picked up the mug, throwing it against the wall as she marched out, tears now streaming down her face from anger, loss and frustration. It was official now, she was out of his life forever. There should have been some desire to run after her, to beg her to take him back, to hold this marriage together somehow. It just wasn't there anymore. If it ever was. 

They had been high school lovers, back before he had dropped out as a head-strong teenager determined that the world was wrong and he was right. For some crazy reason, she had stuck with him and they stayed a couple, eventually getting married. He always wondered what was broken in her that made her stay as long as she did; because he had been broken for a long time.

It didn't take long for the sun to set and the soon to be divorced man sat alone in his living room. The beer wasn't even cold, but it didn't stop him from finishing off his sixth one, maybe seven now. He wasn't keeping count anymore. When his phone vibrated next to him, the caller ID said, "Sammy." He wasn't in the mood to deal with little brother and was tempted to just send it to voice mail, but he needed to answer and figure out what was going to happen next.

"Sammy," he answered. "What's up?"

"You okay?" Sam asked cautiously, quickly picking up on the slurred drunken speech.

Little brother was a deceiving label. Sam might be five years younger than him, but the six- foot-six Goliath had towered over him since they were in the fourth grade.

"Fine Sammy, just fine." He was such a good fucking liar.

Sam grimaced on the other end of the line. It was bad. Dean had never been as good as he thought when it came to hiding his emotions from him. "Just making sure we'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll be there with bells on my toes." He took another deep swig of the room temperature liquid.

"Try and get some sleep, man. We'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

"Whatever. Tomorrow." Pressing the end button stopped the painful conversation that he didn't want to have. 

He was about to stagger upstairs to bed when he remembered there was no bed anymore. She had taken it, along with pretty much everything else. Except the mug. The mug he managed to step on and cut his foot.

"God damn fucking," he slurred as he hopped to the kitchen and sat on the countertop by the sink.

After digging out the ceramic chunk, he washed his foot in the sink. "Nice one, maybe next time I can just slip and maybe it will put me out of my misery."  
He slid back down to the floor and gingerly put pressure on it. Being drunk as shit was good for pain control at least and he was battling a lot of pain right now. Making his way past the blood trail he heavily sank back into the chair and opened up another beer. He was pretty sure if he drank enough this would all become a blur and he could maybe get some sleep.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Morning came with the rude awaking of bright sunlight right in his eyes. As he fumbled out of the chair and cursed under his breath at the killer hangover headache, he jerked the curtain closed. Stumbling to find his phone, he turned it on to check the time.

"Damn it!" He barked at himself, then grimaced at his own too loud voice. 

It was already almost noon and his plane was scheduled to leave in two hours. Knowing there was nothing left in the house to help with a hangover he elected to just pack his suitcase quickly and head to the airport. There would be aspirin in the gift shops and he couldn't wait to put this place behind him. It wouldn't take long. Of the things she left behind, there was nothing he wanted, nothing that was really his anyway. Cramming as much of his clothing into the green duffel bag as possible he gathered up his bathroom shaving supplies and forced the zipper shut. With one last look at the home that never seemed like home, he closed the door and climbed into the cab putting another painful chapter of his life behind him.  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
The local municipal airport was small and today he was grateful for not having to battle with big crowds. Flying was the last thing he would list as a pleasure, ever. However, since she took the only car and Sam had refused to make the ten-hour one-way trip to get him, this was his only option. A quick trip to the bathroom, then the gift shop and finally picking up a carry-on sandwich had him ready to go. 

The flight was very long, but he still wasn't sure how healthy it was for his heart to beat that hard and that fast, for that long. He hated planes with a passion no matter how many times he had to be on them. And even though he wanted to be pissed at Sam for not picking him up he knew in the end this was all his fault. So he kept his mouth shut, gave an extra smile and wink to the airline hostess and tried to let the aspirin do its job.

The overhead announcement woke him up as they prepared for landing. The trip from southern Texas to the north shore of California was a transformation that made him smile. The lush green forests and rocky coastline was someplace he had called home for the first 16 years of his life. Not that it was a happy home, but it had still been home. 

The San Francisco airport was much bigger and it took him some walking to get to baggage and wait for his duffel. While he stood there his phone beeped.

'Outside at pickup when you're ready. Sam'

He shoved the phone back into this jacket and grabbed his bag as it went by. As he walked outside, it occurred to him that he didn't even know what car baby brother drove. Then he realized it didn't matter as he saw giant Sam standing beside a BMW waving for him.

Of course.

Now, don't get him wrong. Sam was his brother and he loved him, but he hadn't been close to him in a long time. Sam was the good child. The child that did no wrong. He was the perfect student, class president, champion basketball player and had all the beautiful girls swooning over him. Life just came easily to him. Dean never resented him for it or felt jealous over it. It was just how Sam was and deep down he'd always been proud of his little brother and for their early years they had been best friends. Things had dramatically changed when fifteen-year-old Dean had stolen their dad's car and taken it for a joyride. The joy ended when he ran off the wet, slick road and hit a tree, killing his only passenger, his eight-year-old brother Adam. John, his father, had come crashing down on him, unleashing his furious grief on an already broken Dean. The end result of the devastation had been an even more broken family. 

Sam wasn't old enough to help him deal with it, hell he wasn't old enough to handle it himself. His mother had died before he really knew her and the only parent he had ever known now hated him. It had been abundantly clear, in his verbal abuse, his physical punishments, and in his drunken rages when he reminded Dean that they would have been better off if it had been him instead of Adam.

It was then that the real downward spiral for him had started. Skipping school, detention then expulsion, arrests for petty crimes, juvey hall, and eventually a boys home all before he was eighteen. Being with Sara should have been his saving grace. What she never understood was that he was so broken, not even she could save him from himself. And in the end, she had to think about saving herself. 

Sam reached out a hand to shake, but Dean suddenly felt sentimental and pulled him into a hug. He was grateful to feel the return hug.

"What did you do, grow another three feet while I was gone?" Dean teased him as he tossed his duffle into the back seat.

"No, still the same Dean." Sam pulled away from the curb and headed to the interstate.

Dean put on a big smile. "So, where's Jessica? Didn't want to welcome the prodigal son back?"

Sam grimaced. Jessica was far from happy to hear that Dean would be back in town. "No, she had classes today and couldn't make it."

"Well, she can't avoid me forever now."

Sam looked over to him. "Dean, please don't start up again with her. We're all agreed to try and make this work."

Dean's jaw clamped down. "Make it work. You mean it's my job to shut the fuck up and do what everyone wants me to do."

Sam shook his head. "That's not what I said and you know it. Look, I'm glad you're back Dean, I really am. But, you didn't exactly leave under the best circumstances and then you never looked back. You're the one that walked away from us."

Every muscle in him tensed up. "Look, I appreciate you picking me up, but spare me the lecture. I'm not here to cause trouble."

Sam let out a deep breath. "I know and like I said, I'm glad you're here. I've missed having my brother around."

Dean pulled up a small smile as Sam sounded genuine. "So what's first Sammy?"

"Sam," he chided him, knowing perfectly well that Dean would ignore his request.

"Yea, whatever."

"We can grab some lunch then I'll drop you off at dad's."

Dean was still very unhappy about the crash arrangements. He had no money to pay for a hotel, much less put down for an apartment right now and Sammy had refused to let him stay with him and Jessica. But his father? Last time he had walked out of that house it was in the heat of battle and he swore he'd never return. Now, here he was begging for a place to stay and having to crawl back home. He was tempted to tell Sam he'd be fine sleeping in the park on a bench.

"Dad's at work all day, he doesn't get home til late," Sam said, almost reading his mind.

"Yea, yea, I know the routine. Nothing's changed about it since mom died."

Sam bite down his frustration. "Anyway. You can get settled while dad's not there. All you two have to do is avoid each other. It's a big house, Dean."

He knew it was a big house. He still had every corner of it memorized from years of childhood play. "Well, we'll see how long this lasts."

"It just has to last until you can get a couple of paychecks and get your own place. Bobby wants you at his place in the morning at nine. I'll pick you up and take you there, then pick you up when I'm done with class. Bobby probably has a car you can fix up and drive."

Dean smiled at the name. Uncle Bobby, his dad's only brother and pretty much the only reason Dean was still alive at this point. When he ran away from home, it was usually to Bobby's, a safe haven until John would catch up with him. Even then it was worth the beating that typically followed. Bobby was older than John, gruff, rough around the edges and owned a junkyard just outside the city. Sam was right, Bobby was a good man for giving him a job and would help him figure out a car pronto.

"Speaking of cars, when did you get this douchebag of a thing?" His tone reflected his distaste with Sam's choice of vehicle.

He chuckled. "It's a good car, Dean." He wanted to return the jab at any car was better than no car, but there was no reason to poke the beast. Dean was back into a decent mood and they were almost home at this point.

The driveway was empty when they pulled up with John's truck gone reflecting him being at work. They both climbed out of the car and Dean grabbed his duffle. For a moment, they just paused in the driveway, neither seeming willing to go inside.

"Dad said to just take your old room."

Dean glanced over at him. "So will you text me when dad has dinner ready?"

Sam shot him a glare. 

Dean shrugged. "Well? I mean he's not going to communicate with me. I just want to know when the cupcakes are done."

"Don't you mean pie?" Sam said, unable to keep down the smile.

Dean grabbed his bag and headed to the front porch. "Hey, I'm just being realistic here. I know that no pie is waiting for me." He shot Sam a quick rise of the brows. "Thanks, man."

Sam nodded. "I'll see you in the morning."  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Dean entered the unlocked door. Standing in the entry way he dropped his bag on the hardwood floors. It was almost surreal. He'd been gone almost six years and still nothing had changed. Nothing. The brown suede couch still resided in the living room, it's edges worn from years of use with the big plaid red quilt draped across the back. Over the mantle was a gun rack with two old Winchester rifles that his dad had gotten before he was ever born. Pictures adorned the walls of all the kids at various stages, graduations, parties, school pictures, and family reunions. He paused at the one of him, one withSam, John, and Adam. They were all smiling as Dean held up the horns of the first buck he had ever killed on his own. It was hard to remember ever smiling in this place. 

He wandered into the kitchen and looked in the refrigerator, grabbing a beer from the door. This room was unchanged also. It even still had the oven mitts his mom had made hanging by the stove. Being here was more painful than he expected and he reached in to grab another beer before heading upstairs.

One thing had clearly change though, his room. It was bare except for a bed, an empty dresser, and a chair by the window. Everything else had been stripped down and removed. All remnants of who he was had been effectively cleansed. It was a sobering thought.

"What the hell am I doing here?" He muttered to himself before leaning back on the bed.

Soon exhaustion washed over him and he fell asleep.  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
When he awoke, it was dark outside and the only illumination came from the streetlights and open curtains. He stood up and stretched, letting his back crack a couple of times before reaching for the door knob. When he opened the door, he froze. The sound of the football game was coming from downstairs. 

John was home and suddenly he was ten again.

The entry into the living room revealed the old recliner with John leaned back, beer in one hand and the remote in the other. It was like stepping back in time. The older man looked up to see Dean in the doorway. Dean walked in, his heart beating out of his chest, his stomach in knots and his only thought was at least now he could outrun his father if he had too.

"Hey, dad."

John remained stoic, but his dark eyes betrayed him. "Dean. I see you found your room."

'The room you kicked me out of and threw everything I owned away from?' "Yea."

John put his head down. "Sam said you are going to work for Bobby tomorrow?"

Dean was on instant alert. Surely he wouldn't do anything to sabotage things this early. "Yes, Sir."

"Well, don't you go giving Bobby a hard time over there. A lot has changed around here since you ran off." He kept watching the TV.

Dean's blood began to boil. "Ran off?! You were the one that told me to go and never come back!"

John was instantly on his feet and Dean took two steps back involuntarily. "Don't you raise your voice to me in my own house boy. I didn't take that crap off you as a teenager, and I certainly didn't let you come back to do it again."

Dean was shaking now. He knew he was screwed a million ways here. 

"I'm going out." Getting out of the house was his only reflex. It was one that was well honed over years of practice. He knew that any other words out of his mouth would probably wind him up in jail or worse right now. Turning on his boot heels he went straight out the front door and down the drive. He didn't even have to close the door, John promply slammed it shut behind him.

He was so fucked.


	2. Picture Me Gone

PICTURE ME LOVING YOU

These good fellows don't belong to me, but I promise when I'm done to pick um up, dust um off and with a kiss on the cheek return them safely home.  
Where is the good in goodbye? ~Meredith Willson, The Music Man

Chapter 2  
Picture Me Gone  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sam pulled up into the driveway and honked the horn a couple of times, signally Dean to hurry his out so he wouldn't be late for class today. Just as he was about to honk again, Dean emerged from the front door and headed down walk to him. 

Climbing in he didn't even look at Sam. He knew it was coming anyway.

"You look like shit. Did you just get home from the bar or did you actually lay down and get a couple of hours sleep? Cause it's hard to tell."

Dean just shrugged. "Sleep is for losers, Sammy." He tried to shoot his best smile but knew instantly that little brother was having no part of it. "Besides, it's too early for lectures."

Sam vacillated between yelling which would just sound like their dad and pity for the man beside him who was trying to pull himself up from the bottom of life. "No, no lecture." Dean's ability to suppress his emotions with alcohol was apparently something that had not changed in his absence from the family. And he was right, it was too early for a lecture. 

The drive to Bobby's was short, about fifteen minutes and they remained quiet allowing the radio to fill the awkward silence that fell between them. When Sam pulled into the open gate of the auto yard, Dean felt a sense of comfort, for the first time since being back. A quick goodbye and he was striding up to the old run down house that sat in the middle of the property. From the outside, it easily blended into the scenery of controlled chaos and general unkemptness. He suspected that many hidden treasures from his childhood would still be tucked in the exact same spots. Before he could even knock, Bobby was opening the door for him.

The only thing that had changed on the man was more gray hair, other than that he looked exactly the same as he did years ago.

"Dean!" Bobby looked him up and down, sizing him up and with a skillful eye determining everything he had been through since he'd been gone. 

All Dean could do was smile back at him. "Bobby, it's good to see you again."

The older man grew serious. "Well, it's about damn time too. Don't they have phones in Arizona boy?"

The jab stung. When he had left, he put everything behind him, including those that were still important to him. His ability to separate the crap from the needed was far from perfect these past few years. "Yea, I'm sorry, I just..."

Bobby didn't even let him finish the sentence because it really didn't matter to him. He pulled Dean into a bear hug and patted him on the back. "Welcome back son."

It was a welcome that he felt down to his bones. Even Sam's hospitality had come with stipulations. A 'You're welcome back as long as you don't cause trouble' kind of welcome. But it wasn't that way with Bobby. He was simply glad to see him.

"Come on in. I can tell already you need some coffee first thing."

There was no hiding his hangover this morning and it didn't matter anyway. Bobby always knew when he'd been drinking too much, not sleeping enough, fighting too long, or anything else that he tried to bury deep down. The difference between home and here was the judgment was left at the door, for the most part. A few words of "suck it up and get your life together" were shared then it stopped and they moved on. They spent the next hour talking over coffee while Bobby cooked him some pancakes and bacon. He should have been nauseated and too sick to eat, but it just smelled too good to protest at. He did a speed updated over the last few years, between bites, ending with the divorce and his return home. The energy in his voice was gone by the time he finished. Nothing like summing up your loser life in thirty minutes.

Bobby stayed quiet and let him get it out. He'd spent way to many years with Dean to think he could fix anything by judging his past. Hell, he was no saint himself. "Well, Sam said you'd need a car while you were here so I have a little project for you. Figured it would keep you busy and maybe out of trouble for a while."

Dean rolled his eyes then couldn't help the smile of excitement. After they had cleared the dishes, they headed out into the auto yard.

"Doubt much has changed around here huh?"

Dean shook his head. "No, not really."

"And John?"

Dean shot him a look. "You two still not talking?" The stare in reply answered his question. "Trust me, nothing there has changed either."

"SOB never did figure out how to get that stick out of his ass," Bobby grumbled.

Dean chuckled.

When they stopped he looked around the corner and saw a battered, wrecked, hood nearly ripped off, engine laying on the ground, yet a thing of absolute beauty. It was 18 feet of badass – a 1967 Chevy Impala hardtop powered by a 502-cubic-inch big-block, slammed down on a built Hotchkiss performance suspension. He felt like a child at Christmas.

"This?"  
Bobby just smiled. "Fix her up and she's all yours."

He couldn't get started soon enough.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The hours passed seamlessly. He was in nothing short of heaven allowing pain to be pushed aside in leu of beating something back into life. Periodically Bobby would drop by to check on him, bring a snack, or a beer and Dean would slid out from under her just long enough to grab a bite to eat. Other than that he didn't stop until he felt someone kicking his leg.

"DEAN!"

He rolled out again, covered in grease head to toe, his hair sticking up in all directions from the heat and humidity. Climbing to his feet he wore his best grin. 

"What do ya think?"

Sam pressed his eyebrows together. "Well."

Dean smacked him on the arm. "Oh come'on. I know she needs some work, but she's going to be beautiful." He reached out and stroked the half-crumpled hood. "Aren't ya Baby."

"Baby?" Sam was half smirking and half smiling now. It was good to see Dean excited about something again.

His face grew serious. "That's right. And when I'm done she's gonna kick some ass."

Sam shook his head. "Okay, just tell me you're gonna get cleaned up before you get in my car."

"Oh, Bobby's lending me a car until I get her finished. So you don't have to worry about your precious prep mobile."

Sam chuckled. Dean really hated his car. "Well, you want to go get some dinner?"

"I've still got a few hours of daylight left. Think I'll keep working for a while. Take Jessica out, I'm sure she'll enjoy dinner more without me being there."

Sam frowned. "Dean."

Dean threw his hand up. "No, I get it. I'm an ass. I'm good here so go enjoy."

He let out a sigh then nodded. "Okay, well just call me if you need anything."

Dean was already sliding back up under the car. "I will. Thanks, Sammy."

He had run out of daylight before he ran out of energy, which was a new thing for him. It felt good to be back doing physical work and working on this car was giving him more grief therapy than any marriage counselor could possibly muster. The problem came after saying goodbye to Bobby. The last place he wanted to go was back to the house. So, instead he went to an old haunt, The Roadhouse.  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Working at Bobby's during the day, getting some time for his own car, drinking by night and trying to stagger in without waking up John became his routine. Work got him out of the house, Baby provided a welcome release of tension and being drunk numbed him to the ire of his father. Throw in some random girls from the bars to keep him company for a while and his days were complete. 

He sat up from the backseat of the Impala to find Bobby standing there holding a cold glass of water for him. 

"Thanks," he said as he chugged the liquid in just a few gulps.

"You ready to talk about it yet?" Bobby asked flatly.

Dean slid back in the car. "Talk about what?"

"This crap you're pulling? You're not fooling anyone Dean."

He looked out again. "Didn't realize I was trying to fool anyone Bobby and no I don't want to talk about it," he gruffed.

Bobby's voice softened a bit. "You can't keep going like this son. Just how long do you think you can go without sleep?"

Dean frowned. "I sleep."

"For how long? And don't try and kid the kidder here. Two hours a night doesn't cut it."

He buried himself in the car again. "I said I don't want to talk about it. If you need to have tender girl moments go call Sammy, he won't leave me the hell alone." His isolationism had not set well with Sam who continued to try and make contact by text and voicemails.

Bobby huffed. "Your brother is just trying to figure out how to talk you into some reason."

Dean slid out of the car and leaned against it, rubbing a dirty rag across his drenched forehead. "I don't need him talking me into anything. I don't need fixing. I don't need anything. Yea I got a crap load of shit I'm still trying to process, but I don't need a tea party moment to get through it." He patted the hood. "This right here? This is what I need so if we're done with our touchy feely moment, I'm going to get back to work."

Bobby decided that was all he was going to get out of him for now. He would keep trying. Sam would continue working on him. But for now, they had to stand back and wait for Dean to fall enough to need them. He just hoped it wouldn't be too late.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dean staggered up the steps to the front door and fumbled with the key to no avail. He tried another key, then another when the door opened on its own. John was standing there.

Fuck.

"Thanks, dad," Dean said as he tried to walk in.

However, John physically blocked him from getting into the house.

"What the hell?"

"I'm done with your worthless ass. I've changed the locks and your stuff is sitting by the garage. I thought maybe things might be different this time Dean, but nothing's change. Drinking all night, falling in the house sometime before dawn, sneaking in your stream of sluts when I'm not here. It ends now."

Dean felt instantly sober as he teeth gritted down in rage. "The only way I can stand to be here is by drinking the liquor store."

He didn't even see John move until he felt the impact of his fist on his jaw. The man was nearly thirty years older than him, but nothing was lacking in the punch that sent him to the ground. By the time he regained his senses the door was closed and the lights were out again. Finding his feet while rubbing his jaw to make sure it was still attached he knew this would be the last time he walked away from this house. He found his green duffel sitting by the garage, along with a tattered box of junk that he was too tired to sift through tonight. Tossing everything in the old Dodge that was a loaner he headed back to Bobby's.

It was only a couple of hours later when the sun came back up and soon after that he heard the knocking on his window to wake him.

"You know I do have a door right?" Bobby asked with a smirk.

"Sorry Bobby. I didn't want to wake you up."

"Yea, Sam called me and told me what happened."

Dean looked puzzled then nodded. Of course, dad called Sam, Sam called Bobby and everyone knew what an asshole he was now.

"Come inside, get a shower and I'll fix some breakfast."  
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"What the hell is wrong with you?" 

Dean was trying to control his own anger, but have a towering Sam standing over him, screaming at him wasn't helping in the least. He had finally given in and gone over to Sam and Jessica's for dinner despite all his inner warnings going off. And this was exactly why he hadn't wanted to come.

"It was just a joke Sammy, now sit down before.."

"Before what Dean? Before you show up smashed, oh wait, you already did that? Before you bring over some girl that you don't even know her name? Or maybe before you hit on my girlfriend, oh wait, you just DID that! And you wonder why dad kicked you out of the house?!"

Dean was on his feet now. "Look, I said it was just a joke. It's not my fault she can't take a joke and as far as what happened between dad and me, well that's history now that won't be repeated. And talking about," he looked over at the blonde sitting next to him on the couch, "um.."

"Candy," she smiled sweetly at him.

"Yea, don't be hating on Candy here."

"Dean, you're my brother and I'm trying my best here to make all this work, but tonight you pushed it too far."

Dean stepped up closer to him. "What are you going to do little brother? Hit me like dad taught us to do? Cause I know, that's what you want to do isn't it?"

Sam couldn't help it, he felt cornered in his own house and it pissed him off. Before he could even think his hands made contact with Dean's chest, shoving him backward. In a second flat Dean was back on his feet and barreling towards his brother with only drunken rage in his eyes and common sense long gone. If he couldn't beat his frustrations out at the auto yard, then the thing closest to him at the moment would work.

Jessica heard Candy screaming and ran down the stairs to find the brothers in a brawl, knocking over chairs and pushing furniture to all corners of the room. Her own yelling at them to stop went unheeded and she made the terrible mistake of thinking she could separate them herself. Dean swung around from Sam, straight to Jessica and when his fist was about an inch from her face he froze. With the realization of what he almost did every ounce of anger left him and he felt physically ill. 

"Jessica, I'm," He gasped out. He looked at Sam who was obviously more emotionally hurt than physically, then to her, who was now utterly terrified of him. All words left him. All he could do was grab his jacket and the blonde by the arm before heading out the front door.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He sat on the rickety bed that had become his temporary home at Bobby's. The room was full of decorations, most had been done by his wife before she had passed away many years ago from cancer. He decided it was time to go through the box that John had left out for him and throw stuff away, keeping what would fit into his duffle. Quickly, he realized it held things from his room that had been cleared out. It should have been comforting to know that he had kept them, but at this point very little made a difference anymore. 

There was an old, now moldy baseball from his little league days, it went in the trash. Next was a stack of MAD magazines that were in such bad shape all stuck together and the pages literally crumbled in his hands. Fond memories but now trash. There were two broken trophies from high school track team before he quit, trash. Three report cards reflecting his failing grades which he happily shredded then trashed. And finally an envelope that held a small stack of pictures.

The first few were of him at ball games, team pictures, riding his bike as a kid. There were a couple that had him, Sam and Adam when Adam was just a baby and they would steal him and hide him just to drive their mom crazy. Those brought a small smile to his face until he thought of where they were all now and the happy was effectively buried again. Then lastly was a picture of him and his mom, Mary. He didn't remember a lot about her, but he always remembered how beautiful she was, the picture just confirmed it. 

Reaching up he wiped the tears off his face tucking all the pictures back into the envelope, then into his bag. They were all he had of his family now.  
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"You plan on writing the rest of your family out of your life now?"

For over a week, Dean had done nothing but work on the Impala, dawn to dark. He hadn't talked to Bobby or answered Sam's texts or calls.

"You know you can't go on like this right?"

Dean threw the wrench down. "Bobby, I screw up so bad, there's no going back on that. If I come anywhere near Sam, he's going to kill me." He dropped his head into his hands. "All I do is fuck things up."

Bobby's anger was gone. "Look, Sam's upset, but he's more worried that you're going to walk away and not return. You boys don't have a lot of family. This is it son. Sam might want to kill you over what happened, but he's not going to. He does deserve an apology, though."

Dean looked up with tears in his eyes. "He deserves a lot more than that. I just don't know how I can face him again."

"You can, and you will. Because you're not kids anymore and you have to do things that might not be the most pleasant to do. Here, he wants you to meet him at this place near the University for lunch today. Just go Dean. Go talk to him."

Dean nodded as he took the note from him. 

ANGEL'S NOOK  
Coffee Shop and Book Store

He looked over the Impala, she was set to paint now and would be ready to drive off this weekend. He knew he had to tell Sam goodbye this time, it was the least he owed him.


End file.
